Oblivion
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: Maleficent found herself unable to meet Diaval's obsidian eyes. She crossed her arms and bit her lip. He gave a gentle smile. "I missed you." She cast her eyes downward. Then, almost inaudibly, she whispered, "I don't know who you are." Maleval, modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

Beep. Beep. Beep. Maleficent felt her body throbbing with each bleep of the machine. It sounded almost like…a heart monitor. Her eyes fluttered open_. Where am I?_ The room was solid white. Different sets of tubes were in her arm. She blinked again. _What happened?_ Her last memory…Stefan. Her hands clutched into fists, and pain shot through them. There was a cool pressure on her left ring finger, and she glared at the offending article of jewelry. Hadn't she given that bastard his ring back? She thought she had; yeah, she'd been drunk, certainly. Perhaps she'd dreamed it. Blinking again, she lifted her hand to her face. This wasn't Stefan's ring. It was silver with an emerald. Stefan only saw worth in diamonds. She licked her lips. Where had she gotten this ring?

"Oh, Miss Moors, you're awake!" A mousy nurse scampered to her side. "Now, they said you would wake up soon." She was too cheery. "Now, you weren't seriously injured beyond the impact you took to your head; our brain scans said that you might have some amnesia. Now, I am supposed to ask you some questions." Her repetition of 'now' was irritating. "Is that okay?" Maleficent wasn't sure if she could muster words yet, so she nodded. "What is your full name?"

She cleared her dry throat. "Maleficent Mildred Moors."

"Very good. Now, when is your birthday?"

"December twenty-sixth."

"Now, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two." The nurse fell silent, her lips pursed. "Miss?"

The nurse nodded slowly. "What is the year?"

Maleficent's eyebrows knitted together. "It's 2006, isn't it?" Her last memory on the bridge with Stefan, and the hate in his eyes when he told her all about his new lover…how long had passed since then?

The nurse shook her head. "The year is 2012, Miss Moors. You are twenty-eight years old." She pushed her glasses up on her face and made some notes on her clipboard. "I need to report to your doctor now. Your fiancé has been waiting to see you—"

"I don't want to see Stefan," Maleficent put in abruptly.

Brown eyes softened. "His name is Diaval Ravenscroft." Maleficent turned ever so slightly to face her. "It's been three days since your accident and he hasn't left the waiting room for much beyond more coffee. I don't think he's slept. May I please let him in?" She didn't know why she nodded. Perhaps it was because she felt sorry for this unfortunate fellow. "Thanks. I'll bring you some water." The nurse patted her hand, and she pulled away.

A tall man entered the room after a few minutes. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed, and scars corded down his neck and across his exposed collarbones. "Millie," he greeted. He sat down beside her bed. She pressed the button to sit up. "How do you feel?" She found herself unable to meet his obsidian eyes. She crossed her arms and bit her lip. He gave a gentle smile. "I missed you."

She cast her eyes downward. Then, almost inaudibly, she whispered, "I don't know who you are." She slowly closed her eyes against the dull throbbing all over her body.

He touched the back of her hand. She folded her arms across her chest and looked away. "It's okay. The nurse told me." His voice probed at her as if she was made of glass. "The doctor says if everything checks out, you can go home tomorrow."

She turned to look at him, and his expression was pained, tears glowing in his eyes like diamonds highlighting the obsidian jewels. "Where is home?" she whispered. The home she remembered was Stefan's apartment. She knew that was no longer her home; it never had been anything but four walls to her. He hadn't cared enough for her to let her personalize it at all. Her moss rugs had been thrown away, her ferns neglected, her lilies put in the compost when she went to work. The signs were there long before he told her the truth about his affair, and she had chosen to ignore them.

The stranger—_Diaval_, she reminded herself—scooped a hand through his hair. "We bought a house together two years ago."

She studied the ring on her finger. How long had they been engaged? Was the wedding already planned? Would he still want her to go through with it? She couldn't. She couldn't marry a man she just met, even if he'd known her for a few years. "What happened to me?" That seemed to be a good question.

He rubbed at his swollen eyes with his fists. "You were in a car accident four days ago." He tried to keep smiling, but it was more of a grimace. The uncertainty of his face only multiplied hers. But she felt weariness tugging at her eyes. "I'm sorry, you're probably tired. I'll let you sleep." She expected him to leave, but he instead pulled a book out of his jacket pocket. She closed her eyes. Before she slept, the last thing she felt was a gentle hand smoothing down her hair.

...

**A/N: No promises on how soon this will be updated or on chapter length. I just haven't had time to write. But here it is! **


	2. Chapter 2

"This is it, then." Diaval opened the door to their house. She stood behind him holding a bag of McDonalds French fries. Her arm was bandaged where the IV had been removed. She had not seen her reflection since awakening. He had not left her side. He was gentle and seemed kind; he avoided touching her, though she watched the confliction on his face as he reached for her and pulled away. The white door swung open, and he entered. She followed close behind. Emerald eyes scanned the walls and furniture.

The first things she noticed were _plants._ Vases of flowers littered every windowsill. Ferns hung from the front door. Pots of violets rested on the end tables. Larger vines hung from hooks in the walls. It was a tropical paradise that would have made Stefan lose his mind. The carpet was a mild brown, muted with the lighter walls. Overall, the furniture seemed fairly normal. It was the plants and the plants alone that brought this house—her home of both new and old—to life.

Diaval cleared his throat. "I moved most of my stuff out of our room. Just for a while, until…well, you know." He sheepishly scratched his head. "You can go explore, if you want. Um, there are a few manikin heads in closets and stuff, don't freak out if you find one with a wig." She gave him a puzzled look, and he mumbled, "I'm a hair dresser." She stared at him blankly. A male hair dresser? Not a barber? She had never heard such a thing. He turned a pale shade of pink under her scrutinizing gaze. "I'm going to make some spaghetti, and I baked you a cake last night. Chocolate."

She blurted thoughtlessly, "I'm lactose intolerant."

He smirked. "And a vegetarian, I know. No meatballs, I promise." He winked at her in a way that seemed almost private, and, unnerved, she turned to walk down the narrow hallway. There were two bedrooms, a spare room that by the bookshelves appeared to be their personal library, and two bathrooms. She entered the master bedroom. A manikin head rested on top of the dresser with a wig of red hair resting atop it; the hair was woven into an intricate braid that even she could not have done. The room, like the living room, was filled with plants. She wondered which of them had the green thumb; she couldn't picture herself going this far overboard. With a sigh, she sank onto the mattress. _What kind of job do I have?_ she wondered. Stefan's plan for her had been childbearing and housekeeping, and though she had never been satisfied with his idea of a happy life, she'd dropped out of college in preparation to follow through with his wishes. Was this what Diaval expected of her as well? She supposed it was a happy accident that they didn't already have children. How would they have explained it to a child that her memory was gone? That his or her father was a stranger to her? Swallowing hard, she rose and entered the master bathroom.

Two moss rugs lay on the floor. They squished slightly under her feet. Hell, little pots of ivy dotted the sides of the bathtub. Up in the cabinet, she could see pill bottles. Curiosity pricked at her, and she reached up to grab them. One was prescribed to Diaval and one to her. He took a prescription allergy medication (_and yet we live in a damn jungle_, she thought wryly) and hers was…Yaz. So they didn't intend on having children. At least, not yet. She tucked the medications back into the cabinet. With exploring eyes, she wandered into the library-like room. Three shelves dotted the room, one on each wall, with a loveseat along the back wall. Above the love seat hung a tapestry, and it read, _Broken hearts become brand new_. Pictures of them littered it. They were all smiling and gleeful. The expressions her own face held were not things she had ever pictured herself portraying, not before Stefan, not during Stefan, not after Stefan. She wondered about the man behind the camera. Stepping deeper into the room, she noted the cases in the corner; her days in high school identified them as instrument cases.

Turning, she nearly slammed headlong into Diaval. He caught her by the upper arms. His face broke out into a broad smile, though uncertainty played around his eyes. "Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Dinner's ready." She looked up into his coal black eyes. Hesitancy showed on his face. He gingerly removed his hands from her arms, but his hands did not return to his sides, instead opening ever so slightly. She found that her feet guided her into his embrace. Warm arms enveloped her. Her cheek pressed into the side of his neck that was corded with scars. He burrowed his nose into her hair. "Millie," he breathed. She didn't know how she had earned such a gentle nickname. "I love you." She softly exhaled a warm breath across his neck. "I'm here." It wasn't a statement; it was a promise. Awkwardly, he pulled himself away from her, and she could see the tears glimmering in his eyes. "Let's eat."

The pasta was okay, she supposed, though the sauce was more like soup. He shook half of the bottle of parmesan onto his. "You are probably thoroughly unimpressed with my cooking," he mumbled to himself, though she could hear him clearly. "Unfortunately this is as good as it gets."

She shrugged. She'd eaten worse things. And it was nice having a meal prepared for her rather than by her for once; Stefan had always claimed that cooking was woman's job alone. "You are skilled at braiding," she remarked, remembering the intricate pattern she had seen in the manikin's hair.

It was his turn to shrug. "I like hair." He brushed up against one of the leafy plants as he took their plates.

"What job do I have?" she blurted. Her emerald eyes scanned over his back.

He turned back to glance at her for just a moment. "You're a librarian. Or you were, at least." She narrowed her eyes. "The public library closed two weeks ago. No money coming in, couldn't pay the bills anymore." Her lips curled downward into a frown. "But all that is depressing." She doubted that much could be more depressing than their current situation. He continued to wash the dishes. "You can go put a movie in if you want. Or read a book , or hell, your flute's beside the couch in the book room. The clarinet's mine; mind you, don't break the reeds. They're pretty expensive." Maleficent nodded thoughtfully. Stefan had never let her play flute. It was a disregarded art form, and she'd fought with him for months over not selling it with the argument that one day their daughters might want to be in band. It'd been useless; he was positive that any child of his would, like him, adore pointless games of kicking balls and tackling people that would otherwise be their friends.

She found herself wandering back to the room where her flute lay, and she picked up the case, carefully assembling it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd played it. With hesitance, she blew an experimental note and nearly jumped when sound came out of it. Her lungs filled and deflated. She bent to put the instrument away. It wasn't right, not yet, not now. She reached for a book and barely glanced at the title before opening it to the bookmarked page. It was only about seventy pages in, and the top of the page was labeled chapter five. Then, it began, "I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents. Some you can see, misshapen and horrible, with huge heads or tiny bodies; some are born with no arms, no legs, some with three arms, some with tails or mouths on odd places." She frowned. She would never have read anything like that with Stefan. She closed the book.

Restlessly, she headed out of the room and peered up the hall. Diaval was on the loveseat with a pen and a notebook. _A diary_, she acknowledged. The television flickered in the dark, illuminating the room. She crept up the hall on cats' feet.

He glanced up at her and closed his diary. "Hey," he greeted. She sat beside him, careful to put a space between their bodies. He did not make a move to breech it, and she was glad. "I was just about to watch this, um, this movie. Would you rather watch the news?"

The movie he spoke of so aptly happened to be an animation: _Shrek Forever After_. "This is fine." She couldn't help but feel an odd stirring in her belly. "Shrek has four movies?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She watched the film with mild interest. All tacky and romantic. True love's kiss—Stefan's promise—and what had come of it? Nothing but heartbreak. And she knew nothing. She knew nothing of the man sitting beside her, even though he shifted toward her just slightly when Shrek and Fiona shared a true love's kiss at the end. Then he headed to the spare bedroom, and she headed to the one they once shared.

The mattress was empty with only one person. The covers were thick, but she still felt cold. Her waist itched as if something was meant to rest there. She did not sleep, and judging by the light that peeked out from under the door across the hall, neither did her unknown fiancé.


End file.
